


Starting Point

by Persiflage



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Implied/Referenced Torture, Naked Female Clothed Female, POV Alternating, POV Character of Color, PoV Michael Burnham, PoV Philippa Georgiou, Pre-Canon, Shenzhou Era, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 05:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20186698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Shenzhou Era: a diplomatic mission goes wrong, and Michael ends up badly hurt.





	Starting Point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nomisunrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomisunrider/gifts), [Radiolaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/gifts).

> I've no idea why the Bitch Muse threw this at my head yesterday when I've so many other WiPs I could've been working on, but there we are! Note that the torture is discussed, but not in graphic detail.

The guard carelessly shoves Michael into the cell and she’s glad that Philippa is there to catch her when she stumbles and falls.

“I’ve got you, Commander,” she says softly, holding Michael carefully so that she doesn’t aggravate the damage done by the guards. She sits down, lowering Michael with her, and the young woman leans into Philippa’s shoulder with a soft sigh of gratitude. 

When they’d first been captured a few days ago – and it pains Michael to realise that she has no idea how many days ago it was because there’s no sense of day or night in this place – Michael wouldn’t have dreamed of letting Philippa hold her on her lap, her right arm wrapped around Michael’s waist so that it supports her, but also rests below the area where her back’s been torn open day after day by the guards with their whips. Now she cannot imagine not letting Philippa hold her thus.

“Don’t go to sleep on me, yet, Michael,” Philippa says in her ear.

Michael snorts because they both know she’s unlikely to sleep at all until they either escape or are rescued. “I’m not,” she says, voice hoarse and throat sore from all the screaming she’s done recently.

“Good.”

“Why are you always so warm?” Michael asks. She’d noticed it the first time they’d sat like this, Michael at a right angle across Philippa’s thighs, her left arm, which is broken in at least one, maybe two, places, slung awkwardly around her Captain’s shoulders. The heat is positively radiating from the other woman’s body – not that Michael’s ungrateful, given how cold she is – the chamber where she’s tortured for hours at a time is positively frigid in temperature, but she cannot wear her uniform jacket any longer – it’s too painful against her abused back.

“My rage keeps me hot,” Philippa says, and Michael chuckles weakly. She’s not sure if that’s true, or if her Captain’s just making a joke, but it doesn’t matter that much.

“Here.” Philippa holds out a mug of water, and Michael drinks slowly and gratefully, desperate for its soothing chill on her throat.

When Michael’s finished, Philippa sets aside the mug, then asks, “How are you shoulders holding up?”

“I’m surprised they haven’t become dislocated,” Michael tells her. Her torturers hang her in chains from a very complicated contraption while they flog her. 

“Would you like me to massage them for you?”

Philippa asks the question carefully, but Michael’s not entirely sure why – does she consider it inappropriate? More inappropriate than cuddling her First Officer on her lap? – or is she concerned Michael wouldn’t welcome that small bit of relief?

“Yes please,” she says.

“Okay. Sit in front of me, between my legs.”

_Oh_, Michael thinks, and suspects this is why Philippa was so careful. She manoeuvres herself around to sit on the stone-flagged floor between her Captain’s legs, and sighs with relief and pleasure when Philippa’s warm hands settle on her shoulders.

“Ideally I’d get you to take off your tank and I’d have massage oils to do this with properly,” Philippa tells her as she flexes her hands on the tops of Michael’s shoulders.

“Ideally,” Michael repeats dryly. “Ideally, you wouldn’t be doing this at all, and we’d be back aboard the _Shenzhou_, because I wouldn’t have gotten us captured.”

“Commander.” Philippa squeezes her shoulders, and Michael sighs, then lets her head drop forward so her chin rests on her chest.

“I apologise, Captain,” she murmurs, knowing that the other woman dislikes her bringing up their capture, or rather, dislikes the way Michael blames herself for it.

Starfleet Command had sent the _Shenzhou_, with probably its most famous serving diplomat in the person of Captain Philippa Georgiou, to discuss the possibility of the Pro Ditions joining the Federation. What Starfleet didn’t know, and the Pro Dition Ruling Council didn’t think to mention, was that there was a strong anti-Federation bias among the people – strong enough that their shuttle had been deliberately shot down, and the two of them captured. 

Their captors have been torturing Michael in an attempt to get Philippa to agree to the Federation supplying them with arms and money so that they can wage war on the rest of the planet. A demand that would be utterly laughable were it not for the fact that they’ve chained Michael up and whipped her back to bleeding for the past several days. Philippa is made to watch – while chained against a wall – but so far they haven’t done any greater damage to her than to force a strange device onto her neck and head which holds her head in facing forward position and forces her eyes to remain open so that she can watch Michael’s torture. Philippa doesn’t remain in the torture room the entire time because their captors tend to tire of her screaming curses at them in English and Malay while they’re flogging Michael.

Michael feels the muscles in her shoulders unknotting under the influence of Philippa’s expert hands, and she is glad of her Vulcan training which keeps her from moaning in pleasure at the incredibly potent touch of her commanding officer. She’s long been aware of the fact that what she’d initially self-diagnosed as a crush on her Captain is far more – that she has, in fact, been steadily and hopelessly in love with Philippa Georgiou since her first few days aboard the _Shenzhou_. She wouldn’t dream of ever mentioning it, however, because she knows how fatal such a thing could – likely would, given Philippa’s professionalism at all times – be to their relationship. She’d rather have Philippa’s steady friendship than be sent away to another ship.

Michael’s half asleep by the time her Captain finishes, so she dismisses as a fantasy what feels like the warm press of Philippa’s lips against the back of her neck, even when the gesture is repeated a second time. 

“C’mon, Commander,” she says, lifting Michael onto her lap again. This time Michael’s right shoulder is pressed against Philippa’s left, and she is able to wrap her right arm more comfortably around her Captain’s shoulders as she snuggles in. She actually manages to doze off for a couple of hours before the chilliness of the ambient temperature wakes her up again.

MB-PG-MB-PG-MB

Philippa Georgiou is uncertain how much more of this torture Michael Burnham can take – she knows the young woman has a very tight grip on her self control, being Vulcan-raised, but Philippa also knows that her back is in a very bad state and she worries that if she cannot get Michael proper medical attention very soon, she’s going to wind up with an infection in one or more of the deeper wounds.

She lets Michael doze against her shoulder after massaging the young woman’s shoulders, and wishes that she could comfort Michael more than the mere crumbs she’s been giving her so far. She has quietly resolved that once they get out of here – and she refuses to doubt that they will – she will finally tell Michael just how she feels about her. She’s fairly sure the young woman reciprocates her feelings and that she’d be quite willing to enter into an intimate relationship with her Captain. She cannot wait to kiss Michael properly, instead of just pressing her lips to the back of her Commander’s neck after massaging her shoulders. She’s equally as eager to make love to her and has been planning their first time together during some of the hours she’s spent alone in their cell when she can no longer hear Michael’s screams from the torture chamber at the other end of the corridor. It was as good a way as any to distract herself from her inability to help or save Michael.

She’s been thinking black thoughts of revenge for Michael’s tortures for about two hours when the entire castle they’re in reverberates to an enormous boom, and stone dust cascades from the ceiling.

Michael stirs in her arms, then pushes herself to her feet, wobbling a little – she’s probably dizzy from the pain, a lack of sleep, and a lack of proper nutrition. Philippa’s on her feet immediately after her First Officer and wraps an arm around her shoulders to steady her.

“Could this be a rescue?” Michael wonders quietly.

“I sincerely hope so,” Philippa says. She bends down and retrieves their uniform jackets, which are somewhat the worse for wear as she’s been using them as a cushion on the cold, stone-flagged floor.

She drapes Michael’s over her shoulders, then pulls on her own, and the two of them turn to face the door of their cell as more booms, smaller ones she judges, echo through the building.

When the door starts to open, Philippa steps in front of Michael. “Don’t move, Number One,” she says in her sternest Captain’s voice, and to her credit, the young woman just nods slightly.

“They’re in here,” calls a familiar voice as a redheaded woman looks around the door.

“Lieutenant Detmer?” Philippa says, startled.

The young woman grins at them. “Yes, sir.” 

“Not that I’m not grateful to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Detmer grins more widely. “Rescuing you and the Commander, Captain.” A moment later the door opens fully behind her and Doctor Nambue steps around Detmer.

“Captain, Commander,” he says. “What’s the damage?”

“They’ve been torturing Burnham,” she says in a sharp tone, and Nambue looks sickened, while Detmer gasps.

“I suspected torture when I saw the set up out there,” the medical officer says. He digs into the pouch at his belt and brings out two hyposprays. “Painkillers and antibiotics,” he tells Michael, who nods, then tilts her head to the side. Philippa pulls the collar of her jacket aside so that Nambue can administer both hyposprays to the side of Michael’s neck.

He half turns. “Tell Commander Saru we’re beaming directly to sickbay,” he tells Detmer, who nods, and brings out her communicator. 

“I’ll see you later, Captain, Commander,” the young woman says, and Philippa nods, her arm wrapped around Michael’s shoulders again as her First Officer is clearly drooping now. Doctor Nambue takes hold of her right wrist in a light clasp, and Detmer says, “_Shenzhou_, three to beam directly to sickbay.”

“Acknowledged,” answers Ensign Fan, their communications specialist.

MB-PG-MB-PG-MB

Michael is dozing on her bed, lying on her stomach, her half-healed back uncovered, when the chime of her door wakes her.

“Come in,” she calls, her voice still not fully recovered from all the screaming during her days of torture. Doctor Nambue is healing her in stages, and insisting she rests in between sessions because she’s so weak from blood loss, pain, lack of sleep, and insufficient nutrition.

Her door swishes open and Michael angles her head to see her Captain step inside. Ordinarily she’d get to her feet to greet her, but these aren’t ordinary circumstances.

“Captain.”

“Commander.” Philippa crosses to her bedside and gazes down at her back, and Michael wonders if she should feel self conscious about the fact that she’s wearing nothing at all on her torso – a bra is as out of the question as a shirt since it would only chafe against her half-healed wounds. She’s not wearing much on her lower body either – just a pair of shorts over her underwear. Philippa doesn’t seem troubled, however. She lightly touches her fingers to a spot on Michael’s back that isn’t damaged as she asks, “How are you?”

“Recovering slowly,” Michael says, not too proud to admit that her recovery is taking time.

“I’m glad that you’re recovering, Michael,” she says warmly. “And I’m very sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop them torturing you.”

“Philippa, if my guilt about not being able to fight off our captors is useless, then so is your guilt about not being able to stop my torture.”

The other woman huffs out a slight laugh. “Touché. Do you mind if I sit down?”

Michael shifts sideways across the bed, and it’s only when the Captain’s eyes go wide that she belatedly realises that Philippa probably meant to sit in the chair by her desk. However, she sits on the side of the bed, looking down at Michael with a very focused expression.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about, Michael.”

“Okay.” _This sounds ominous,_ Michael thinks. _Has she realised that I’m in love with her? Is she going to send me away?_ A part of her wants to rush into speech, to apologise, or defend herself, or something, but luckily a larger part of her reins in those impulses and the next moment, Philippa says something Michael’s longed to hear, but never dared believe she would.

“I’m in love with you.”

Forgetting her half healed back and her partial nudity, Michael propels herself upwards so she’s sitting face to face with the Captain. “You are?”

Philippa’s eyes drop to Michael’s bared breasts, and her face flushes. “Hopelessly,” she says, and the young woman can see the visible effort she makes to raise her eyes to Michael’s, her blush deepening.

“For how long?” 

Philippa swallows. “Three years.”

Michael shakes her head. “When I first came aboard the _Shenzhou_ I believed I had a crush on you. It took me a few months before I realised that I was – and still am – quite madly in love with you.”

“You never said anything,” Philippa says.

“To my Captain?” Michael says a little incredulously. “To the woman I admired intensely, and who had become both my mentor and my closest friend?” She snorts. “I was fairly sure you didn’t reciprocate, and I didn’t want to risk you sending me away because the knowledge of how I felt about you was too awful for you to contemplate.”

“I take your point,” Philippa says, then asks, “May I kiss you?”

Michael agrees, perhaps a little too eagerly, but her Captain doesn't seem to mind the eagerness. She just cups Michael's face in both hands and presses her lips to Michael's, and when a needy noise involuntarily escapes the back of her throat, Philippa smiles against her mouth, then licks teasingly at the seam of Michael's lips, easing them open. Michael can't help a moan escaping, and Philippa immediately deepens the kiss, sliding her tongue gently past her teeth to tangle with Michael's tongue. 

The Commander kisses Philippa back fervently, clasping her shoulders and trying to get her body closer to her Captain's. 

She starts in surprise when Philippa's hands cup her breasts, the slightly roughened pads of her thumbs rubbing over her nipples, making them stiffen.

“Philippa!” she gasps. 

“Too much?” she asks immediately, her hands stilling. 

“No,” Michael says adamantly. “Don't stop.” 

Philippa chuckles. “No stopping,” she agrees in a teasing tone. She pinches Michael's nipples, then rolls them between her fingers and thumbs, and Michael groans in pleasure, feeling a surge of desire rush through her body to pool in her sex in heat and moisture. 

“Philippa, please,” Michael says in a hoarse voice. 

“Please what, my love?”

“I need you inside me, please.”

Her Captain pulls back and looks at her intently, then nods. “Given that your back is still healing, you'll be more comfortable if you lie on top of me.”

Michael nods and climbs off her bed, stripping off her shorts and underwear, and having shed her boots and jacket, Philippa settles on her back in Michael's place. She clasps Michael’s hand as she climbs back onto the bed, settling her body over Philippa's. Her Captain holds her hips as she positions herself to give Philippa the easiest access to her centre. 

“Okay?” Philippa asks softly, pressing her lips to Michael's brow, then her lips.

“Yes,” Michael breathes. 

Philippa brings her right hand between their bodies and traces a fingertip up and down each of the lips of Michael's sex, and she feels a pulse of want in her core.

“Philippa. Please.” 

“Shh, my love, it's okay.” Her Captain begins kissing her again, her left hand clasping the back of Michael's neck, and as she does, Philippa circles her finger around Michael's clit, making her moan into the kiss, and causing her hips twitch involuntarily. 

“Mmm,” Philippa hums, “you like that.” 

Michael can't quite suppress a whine and a shudder, which elicits a chuckle as Philippa repeats the gesture. 

“You're not playing fair,” Michael groans, and her Captain says, 

“Aww, poor Michael,” then slides a finger into her slick heat. 

“More, please,” Michael begs breathlessly. 

“In a moment, my love. I don't want to hurt you.” Philippa's finger glides in and out a few more times before she adds a second one. Michael's inner muscles clench tightly around them, then she whispers against the shell of her Captain's ear: “Another, Philippa, please.” 

Her Captain groans at her words, or possibly at Michael's breath on her ear. “Very well, Commander.” She eases a third finger into Michael's sex, causing her to cry out as she clenches her muscles tightly in a powerful climax. 

“Don't. Stop. Please,” Michael begs brokenly as her muscles continue to spasm around her Captain's fingers. 

Philippa grunts as she resumes thrusting her fingers into Michael's sex. 

She drives her First Officer to another two equally powerful climaxes, before easing her fingers free of Michael's body. 

Afterwards the young woman lies on top of her, breathing heavily, and looking spent but sated.

“Thank you, Philippa,” she murmurs once she's caught her breath. 

“You are very welcome, my love.”

MB-PG-MB-PG-MB

Philippa Georgiou is a little more in awe of Michael Burnham than ever before – as well as being even more in love with the young woman. Getting to be the one who made her come apart as she had while Philippa was inside her had been an incredible experience. 

Now Michael is lying on top of her, dozing, while Philippa holds her carefully. She is extremely aroused and is hoping that her young lover might be inclined to help her out with this issue, but she knows that Michael is still recovering from her experiences on Pro Ditio and she doesn’t want to push the matter if her Commander is too tired. 

After about half an hour Michael stirs, and lifting her head, gazes at her Captain. “Philippa,” she says softly, then shifts slightly in order to bring her mouth to Philippa’s. She kisses her back, keeping it gentle rather than allowing her passion to drive the kiss. Then Michael shifts so that she’s straddling Philippa’s thigh, and she groans at the heat of Michael’s core, which she can feel even through the fabric of her uniform pants.

Michael intensifies the kiss, and Philippa feels helpless to resist, particularly when she feels Michael’s hand cupping her mound, her fingers stroking lightly over her damp flesh.

“May I?” her Commander asks.

“Yes please, my love,” Philippa answers, and hopes she doesn’t sound quite as desperate as she feels.

Michael doesn’t tease her, she just slips two fingers straight into Philippa’s slick heat, and she moans in pleasure as Michael begins to thrust with a quick, firm motion. 

“Love, I’m getting close,” she says after only a few minutes.

“More?” Michael asks.

“Yes please.”

The young woman nods, then adds a third finger, and Philippa groans as she feels herself teetering right on the edge of an orgasm. Then Michael eases another finger into Philippa’s sex, and she climaxes hard with a sharp cry, her inner walls spasming violently around Michael’s fingers.

Her Commander nips at her bottom lip, then laves it with her tongue, repeating this gesture four or five times as she waits for Philippa’s muscles to relax enough to withdraw her fingers.

Then she asks, “Do you think you could take my whole hand?”

Philippa has to force herself to focus on the question through her post-orgasmic haze. “Your whole hand?”

Michael nips at her chin. “I’ve got four fingers inside you,” she says. “Do you think you could take my thumb, too?”

Philippa swallows as she feels a surge of lust wash through her, re-igniting her arousal. “I don’t know,” she says. “No one’s ever tried that before.” She looks at Michael, noting how her pupils look blown, and that her expression is one of desire mingled with curiosity – it’s a good look on her, Philippa thinks. “Why don’t you try?”

Michael nods, and slides her fingers out of Philippa’s sex, then she eases them back in again. “I’ve tucked my thumb in,” she says. “I’m hoping that will make this less painful.”

Philippa groans as Michael flexes her hand inside her cunt. “Fuck!” she says, feeling incredibly full, but very turned on. “That’s incredible.”

Michael grins, looking very pleased with herself – not that Philippa blames her, then she twists her hand and presses against Philippa’s G-spot, and she cries out in surprise as she climaxes a second time, the feelings seeming sharper, somehow.

Michael begins moving against her leg, and it takes a moment for her endorphin-flooded brain to realise that she is rutting against Philippa’s leg. 

“Do you want my fingers?” she asks, and Michael nods, then shifts her body a little higher up Philippa’s leg, just far enough for her sex to be within Philippa’s reach. She moans when her Captain begins to thrust three fingers into Michael, who is slick and hot still.

They climax simultaneously, Michael biting none too gently on Philippa’s shoulder, and she suspects she’ll have a bruise there tomorrow, not that she particularly cares.

Once they’ve caught their breath, they sit up, then get off the bed and move into the ensuite where they take a shower together. Michael lets Philippa wash her, and if her touches linger a little too long on her breasts, her ass, and her sex, Michael doesn’t complain. As soon as she’s rinsed off, her Commander returns the favour, soaping Philippa up, then teases her breasts and inner thighs. She rinses her hand off, then cups Philippa’s mound.

She slides her hand over Michael’s and lifts it away, then raises it in order to press a kiss to her palm. “Not right now, my love,” she says. “I’m a little sore.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, looking a little stricken.

“Don’t be,” Philippa tells her immediately. “You’ve nothing to apologise for after giving me three very powerful orgasms.”

Michael ducks her head. “You gave me more,” she says.

“Mmhmm.” Philippa presses a finger under her chin and gets her to lift her head. “It was my absolute pleasure to give you so many orgasms after everything you went through on that mission. And I plan on giving you quite a few more, but for now you should get some more rest. I don’t want Doctor Nambue giving me the stink eye because you’ve had a relapse.”

Michael giggles, then wraps her arms around Philippa. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Always,” Philippa says. She kisses her softly, then pulls back. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“Will you stay with me? Please?”

“I’d love to.”

They climb out of the shower, dry off, then pull on sleep pants and tee shirts, before they settle on the bed, Philippa on her back, and Michael lying on her belly, half draped over her Captain.

Michael falls asleep more quickly than Philippa, and as her thoughts begin to drift she feels a grim sort of satisfaction that the Pro Dition mission brought her this intimate relationship with Michael. And once the rebels were caught, and the rest of the Pro Ditions discovered what had happened, those on the Ruling Council who’d previously been opposed to joining the Federation had changed their minds – none of them wanted anyone to believe that they condoned torture. Starfleet Command had pronounced themselves very satisfied with the outcome of the mission, although they had issued a stern notice to the Ruling Council regarding the necessity of ensuring that any other anti-Federation Pro Ditions were rounded up in case they were inclined to similar violence.

And Command is sending Katrina Cornwell out to the _Shenzhou_ to offer the Captain and First Officer one or more counselling sessions to help in their recovery. She’s looking forward to seeing Katrina again, although she anticipates some ribbing from her old friend for the fact that her new lover is somewhat younger than her. She falls asleep with a smile on her face at the thought of introducing Kat and Michael to each other.


End file.
